My Infant Tito's battle with NF1

Monday, September 14, 2009

Poems for my son

Here is a series of poems I wrote for my son. Some deal with his condition. Some with the joy my son has given me. Share them and pray for my son.

Poem 1The Pain I need to Share After Learning about my Son's NF1

My son, my son,I weep for you. I weep for the world;the world cruel in its self-hatred, cruel in its loveof violence. I will not abandon you, son, even as Iam weak, weak in will and strength. God,I pray to you for strength and will, for forgivenessFor life is not a Disney movie, but filledWith suffering. How to protect you, my son?Protect you from the terrors of biology,Flesh, and pain, and how little you lookTo face the taunts of the world; the taunts,The cross, I know too well. I haveNo shield to offer but my love,My soul, and my god. My GodWho hangs bleeding from a tree. My God,My God abandoned by friends and followers.Rise from the grave, my soul and my son needsYou. As it is all we can do, my son, my son, we will standTogether, awaiting Easter, calling it compassion

Poem 2Song to the Lord of the Crowded Street

To touch the cloak of God, we must work throughthe crowds cheering, and must work through the fear

of divine rejection. Of evil, we know only of our dearfailures of our hearts. Hearing the terror embedded

in the cry of a newborn, we can understand the condemned.yet we continue past the disciples, past the inner circle,

to the back of he who is God. Hemorrhaging, we touch for life.Lord, who I am to ask you to stop, and turn around to ask

who touch your cloak? Yet, I want to stop you, the divine andpoint to my son, and demand healing. Lord, I know you know

what it is like to weep for your son. So I ask, plead, and bleedfor you to stop, turn around and notice us.

Poem 3Baby Boy's Milk

A voice calls out in the night. Answer the crywith milk. Answer the call with love. Answerthe cry with fear and trembling. Timewill move us beyond this stage of being small. Heis small, not yet ten pounds. I am small,not yet confident. The night unfolds. My boysearches for questions to his hunger. Feedingin my arms, I wonder if am holding himright. A way moves through our space.He is old in his wisdom as I am young in fear.Prayer comes at the end of us, circlingus like a dark bee in search of nectar.I think about God and address God.What is there to do in the darknessof a late night feeding? I wonder,Then I change his diaper...

Poem 4Psalm to my Lord from my Front Lawn

I planted last fall the grass seed mix with faithin water, sun and soil . I hope to see the unseenseeds sprout in this year's Spring. It hasappeared. It has taken root and mingleswith three leafed microclover. Taking a bladein one hand, and a three winged leafof clover in the other, I lounge with my soul.I look to our newest friend, a young oak we justadded. The newness of life fills me with longing forGod.

Sweet Lord, who moves in the wind,who moves me beyond my smallness,makes me take notice of others in love,to take notice of the youngcouple living to my left raising their firstboy, not even one. Our boys , both babies now,will grow up together. To my right, a man,barely into his twenty, drinks the poisonof fun, parties and rootlessness. Withoutaim, he finds purpose in a case of maltedmash, and cheap beer. Behind me, my family,the gift of being alive, my baby boy discoveringthe sweet taste of milk and Moma's voice.He has learn to cry at the prospectof sleep. Why sleep when life awaits,demands to be experienced?

He sings the song of creation in his voice,He will soon grab a handful of grass and clover.For now, I bring him a clover to smellhe laughs and smiles. St Patrick would understand.Today, my baby discovers a new smell.Today, people fight for their freedom in Iran,people mourn the death of Michael Jackson.Today, we will share dinner with friends. Today,we will place ancient flagstone of coppers redand earthen browns on the side of our houseand plant creeping thyme to fill the spacesbetween to stones. Today, I will singpraises to my Lord.

Expession heightens Faith and Life

'The person who does not dance does not know what is coming to pass.' The important thing is the expression, not the concept, for it is in expression that life is classified and structured, unfurled and heightened. Expression is the creative achievement of living. -The Spirit of Life By Jurgen Moltmann